They were magazines telling of the municipal corruption of "New York, The Vile," "Philadelphia, Defiled but Happy," "Chicago, the Base," and "St.
Louis, the Decayed." Doc Weaver had given them to Mayor Stitz to show him the evil of graft, and to keep his administration clean and pure.
When the Colonel had laid before the mayor his request for an ordinance compelling all opera house owners in Kilo to install and maintain four nickel-plated fire-extinguishers in each opera house, the mayor beamed on him through his iron-rimmed spectacles.
"Ho! Ho-o!" he exclaimed, "it is to make Mister Skinner buy some fire-extinguishers, yes?
So shall my city council pass an ordinance, yes?
Um!" He smiled broadly at the Colonel, and then nodded.
"For how much you graft me ?" he asked blandly.
"What ?" asked the Colonel.
"Graft me," repeated Mayor Stitz.

"I say for how much you will graft me when I shall pass one such ordinance my council through ?" "What's that ?" asked the Colonel, puzzled.
"For how much you will make me one graft ?" Mayor Stitz repeated slowly.
"Graft! Graft! Understand him not ?" The Colonel shook his head.
"What is it ?" he asked.
"Graft! Graft! Graft!" exclaimed the mayor with annoyance.

"Don't you know him?
When I make you one ordinance to pass, so, then you make me one graft, so! Like I read me in this book.

Me to you, one ordinance; you to me one graft.

So!" A look of dismay came over the face of the Colonel, as he frowned at the smooth, honest face of the mayor, from which beamed eyes of childish honesty and frankness.
"Here in this book," said the mayor slowly and distinctly, like one explaining some simple thing to a child, "I read me of this graft business.